The Haunting
by LostinOblivion
Summary: Sometimes the dead can't let go, what they are holding onto is just too important. This is a completely experimental piece...give it a try.


**2029, FBI Field Office in Los Angeles, CA**

"AD Carerra! Excuse me, AD Carerra!" A fresh new recruit, straight out of Quantico chased her out of the classroom. Cheryl rolled her eyes, though she was the Assistant Director, in charge of entire LA field office she still taught a class in the CNU, because the CNU would always be her home.

"Agent Agnes, what can I do for you?" Agent Isabelle Agnes suddenly looked nervous. The young woman was a sharp as they come, but needed to be a little more aggressive.

"I was just wondering, were we supposed to have another agent teaching the class, today?"

"No. Why?" Cheryl considered her with a puzzled frown, what all the upper-ups are taught to wear almost constantly. She motioned and they continued the conversation walking into the elevator.

"Well, it's just, I got there a little early today, and there was a woman at the podium, she looked like she was about to start lecturing a class actually. I just thought maybe, she was visiting from another office, I hadn't seen her before." Cheryl struggled not to roll her eyes, all that dialogue just to say that?

"She was probably another student in the class, Isabelle."

"No, I looked, and I've never seen her in the LA office before." The kid was determined, so Cheryl decided to humor her, they were walking toward her office now anyway.

"Okay, what did she look like?"

"Uh, white, thirties, 5' 8" maybe 130, 140. Jeans, camisole, and she had red-brown long curlish hair, and sad eyes."

"Agnes, did you really just give me 'sad eyes' as a descriptor?" Good grief, what were they teaching now at Quantico?

"Well…yes. She looked happy enough, but there was this sadness in her eyes."

"Listen Isabelle, I don't know what to tell you…ease up on the coffee though, please?" Cheryl eased into her office, and fell behind her desk. She was still pretty damn fit for fifty-seven, but still, it was nothing like being thirty.

"I don't drink coffee?" Isabelle was confused a moment, letting her eyes wander her bosses office, landing on a picture on the bookshelf.

"That! That's her!" She yelped way to loudly for Cheryl's taste.

"Whose what?"

"In that picture, with that hot guy, that's the woman I saw." She was pointing to a picture of two people who hadn't been seen in the CNU for twenty years.

"This woman?" Cheryl picked up the photo and brought it closer to her.

"Yes, that's her, but she doesn't look sad in that photo." Cheryl's eyes suddenly turned cold.

"Agnes, whoever told you that would be a good prank to play did you a disservice, because I do not find this in the slightest bit amusing. In fact, I find it very hurtful. You're excused." Cheryl turned her back to the girl, and set the photo back on the shelf.

"But, but, I don't understand…why would I…it's not a prank ma'am. I just saw her today…" Isabelle trailed off eyes to the ground, shifting her feet nervously. Cheryl watched her, surprised that she seemed to be upset, that she really thought she saw the woman in the photo.

"Isabelle, you really saw her?"

"Yeah, I just don't get what the big deal is." She looked back up, appearing less like the wounded puppy she was a moment ago.

"She's been dead for almost twenty years."

Poor Isabelle's eyes bugged out in horror, and her mouth fell open.

"Close your mouth and don't look so scared. Sit down," Cheryl instructed her.

"I'm so sorry, now I get why you were upset. I guess maybe it wasn't her, but it's just she looked so much like her, and—"

"Stop rambling Agnes. You did see her, and you aren't the first. Emily died in that classroom nineteen years ago, one of her students lost it and shot her one day, made a crazy insanity claim at trial. She bled to death in that room, while I sat beside her, and Lia Gonzalez, in IA tried put pressure on her wounds." Cheryl shook her head, she didn't want to go back there, did want to revisit that day.

"Oh…what do you mean others have seen her?"

"From time to time an agent staying later, or a janitor cleaning will run to their nearest friend and insist there was a pretty red-head hanging out in there." Frank had seen her once, the only one of the four, and had fallen to his knees, too stunned to stop himself. When Cheryl was teaching and had misplaced something, or couldn't find a page in the manual, somehow it would find itself. After a while, she'd decided this was Emily, and would always whisper a quick thanks when the dead negotiator offered her assistance.

"Is that why she looks so sad, because she was murdered?" Isabelle couldn't help herself, there was something about the look in the woman's eyes that was just heart-breaking.

"No, actually that isn't…Isabelle, if you don't mind I've had enough of reliving the past for one day. Remind me sometime, and I'll tell you the rest of the story." She knew it was good to talk about it once and awhile, to remember, but it was so draining too.

"Sure…thanks." Isabelle didn't try to pose another question, it was obvious this woman wasn't easy for the AD to discuss. They must have been good friends, she mused. No wonder she still teaches a class, the only AD in the Bureau to do so. In her own way, Cheryl was still haunting the CNU too.

"Oh, Isabelle?" Cheryl called, just as the girl went for the door.

"Yes ma'am?"

"If you do see Emily again, come find me, would you? I'd like to see her." Isabelle was taking aback by her normally stoic commander's wistful tone, but still managed to nod before ducking out the door.

* * *

Isabelle got her opportunity to here the rest of that story a week later, when she walked into Sloan's, still a cop bar. AD Carerra called her name and waved her over to the booth where she sat with three other people. There was Frank Rogers, in his fifties, but still training new agents in the kill house, she'd trained with him. Duff Gonzales, in his forties, Commander of the Hostage Rescue Unit, and his wife, Lia Gonzalez, Supervisor of Intelligence Analysis. It was a well known fact that Lia would be in the CNU staring at her computers until old age made her so blind not even glass could do the trick. Isabelle was nervous approaching, it was a table full of legends, and she was barely a rookie. 

"Good evening," she greeted, standing in front of them.

"You know how I promised you the rest of that story?"

"Yes?" She hadn't asked her all week, not wanting to upset her, as she imagined the memories would.

"Well, we've all been drinking, this is the best opportunity you're going to have to get it. Take a seat." She waved to the seat across from her.

"Oh, this is the kid who saw Em?" Even after twenty years, the nickname came to his mouth easier than her full name. Frank shifted, so many years they'd discussed it only amongst themselves, maybe it was time to pass the story on.

"Yep, lucky kid…so I guess we should start with Matt. You remember the man in that picture, the one you said was hot?" This earned snickers from around the table. Oh, if only this girl had seen the couple together, she'd know no one was getting between them, they were way to hot for each other.

"Yeah." Isabelle blushed. Frank chose to pick up the story.

"Did you know this isn't the original Federal building?" Isabelle shook her head, she was new to LA, she knew nothing about it's history.

"Well, in December 2007 a man some of the agents in the unit had successful talked down had a grudge, and exercised it with a bomb. It wasn't huge, but big enough to damage the infrastructure. He put two, one in the basement, one the thirty-eighth floor, the CNU. The one in the CNU went off first, near the bullpen and interrogation rooms. We were all out at a scene, Emily was teaching three floors down, Matt was working at his desk. They evacuated the building after the first bomb, and get everyone not injured by the first bomb out before the second goes off and the building goes down." Frank's head had fallen steadily lower as he spoke, remembering that day. Lia squeezed his arm, and picked the story up.

"I got a call from Emily once she and her class got out of the building, she didn't know anything, but was worried she couldn't find Matt. By the time we got back from the scene, she was practically frantic, I'd never seen her like that. It took two days, but the firefighters got all the pieces…it was closed casket. It was terrible loosing Matt, watching Emily nearly destroy herself with grief…" Lia turned away, moisture stinging her eyes.

"That's why she looked sad, isn't it?" Isabelle turned to Cheryl, a certain sadness reflecting in her own eyes.

"Yes, Isabelle, that's why." Duff picked up the story next.

"So, weird things started to happen several months after that. Emily began to stay late, hanging out in the cubicle that used to be theirs. She told us one day that she liked it there, she could go there and feel him around. We didn't realize it wasn't in her head until we left this neonazi skinhead alone in interrogation two. Frank and I go back in, and he's huddled in a corner, screaming about a ghost. Says he has dark hair, dark eyes, white guy, thirties, glaring at him the whole time, but can walk through walls. We didn't tell Emily, didn't want to upset her. It's funny, guys work in there now, and they'll leave for a minute to get coffee, come back and insist someone was flipping through their files."

"Like Emily, in the classroom?" Isabelle was entranced by the story, couldn't stop listening.

"Yeah, she was shot two years after Matt died, after the classrooms were moved onto the same floor as the CNU, and I guess neither of them every really left." Cheryl took a long drink of her beer, feeling the history already weighing on them like a dense, wet fog.

"Have you ever seen them together?" If they were so close in life, shouldn't they be as close in death?

"Nope, not once. He stays either where his and Emily's old cubicle was or an interrogation room, and she's never left her classroom." They had always hoped to, just to know that at least they were happy in life after death.

* * *

The next day, Isabelle did what four years as an undergrad taught her to do, research. She wasn't completely sure the foursome wasn't trying to screw with a newbie, so she decided to check. That, and she couldn't seem to rid her mind of that couple, and the image of that woman. She logged into the library, picked the database for old LA Times articles, and searched for FBI in December 2007. Nearly a hundred entries popped up, so she started old, and worked her way back. 

There was a successful organized crime sting, breaking a ring of drug dealers, and removing two-dozen kilos of heroin before it ended up on the streets. A hostage situation at a bank, which in a nice surprise feature the two agents she was investigating. There was a shot of them standing with a much younger version of AD Carerra, who Isabelle noted, was very pretty in her thirties, and just as commanding. And finally, the bulk were on two bombs that destroyed the federal building, killing a dozen people, and causing millions in damage.

There were pictures of the wreckage, the shell-shocked federal employees standing before it. There were shots of them fleeing before the second bomb went off, dark photos taken late in the night, while they were still trying to find bodies. She found Special Agent Mathew R. Flannery, CNU listed among the public servants lost in the bomb. On shot showed a string of memorials lined up in a row: photos, flowers, candles, other random mementos. Isabelle could just barely make out Matt's handsome face on one on the end, a single red rose sitting in front of it.

Then came coverage of the funerals, which was a drab and depressing as one would imagine. Twelve funerals, all covered by the press in a short ten-day period: eights intelligence analysts (there were only ten in all, the other two were at a negotiation), two secretaries, two agents, anyone normally in the CNU was at that negotiation sight or on lunch break. Matt's was on the last day, and featured a larger article and photo, because he was an agent and a highly valued one at that.

The photo was heartbreaking. A midshot, in full color of the mourners, focusing specifically on the four people she'd spoken to last night, and the red-head she'd seen in the classroom. Emily Lehman, partner to the deceased agent, as the caption and article described her, was wearing a black dress to her knees, and a look of complete despair on her face. AD Carerra held an arm around her, as she stood arms around her torso, tears spilling slowly down her cheeks.

That was it, all Isabelle needed as proof, but as if some unseen force controlled her, she copied Emily's name from the text, and inserted in a new search, switching the date to 2009. There were many few articles this time, mostly on negotiations, until she reached November, right before Thanksgiving. A front page article proclaiming tragedy in the Federal building for the second time in just under two years. The article was accompanied by a picture of the killer, only 26, and Emily, smiling and alive. Isabelle had enough, she shut down her computer and went home for the night, to life.

James, her boyfriend and a fellow agent, was already there, watching TV and waiting for her. She'd given him a key a couple months ago. They ate a fairly quiet dinner, and made love long into the night. That would be the only peace Isabelle was able to find that night, ghosts haunted her sleep.

Isabelle stood with her four closest friends, but they weren't her friends. It was too sunny in the graveyard, California or no, the sun shouldn't be shining like that not today. There was this awful mass of pain in her stomach, the kind that felt sick, almost cold. She missed most of the pastor's words as she adjusted to the tightness in her chest, and the tears in her eyes. It felt like her heart was breaking, like she'd lost something, someone she could never get back. The dress, she never wore dresses, but she did today for him, he always said he liked her in dresses, but she figured he just wanted to check out her legs. Still, for him she would wear one. She fingered the small bouquet of Black-Eyed Susans in his hand, they were always his favorite, because they reminded him of his mother. Isabelle finally glanced up, and looked in front of her, reading the name written on the box marking the grave until the headstone was made. Mathew R. Flannery.

Isabelle flew up in bed, shaking and breathing heavily, as a flood of tears rushed from her eyes. James stirred beside her, leaning up, noticing her tears and becoming alarmed. He rubbed her back and asked with his eyes what was wrong. She shook her head, already calming down from the too real dream. She shimmied closer to him, and they laid down again, Isabelle leaning against his chest, secure in his arms.

* * *

Isabelle tried her best not to think of the tragic couple over the next couple of days, keeping her distance from AD Carerra and her circle of friends. They smiled now when they saw her, and she offered her own tense smile back, but quickly moved on. Anything associated with that dead couple could put them back in her head, and she just couldn't handle that. Of course, sometime you don't have a choice what sticks with you. Three days after that first dream, another struck. 

Isabelle kissed down her lovers chest, running her hands along his back. But, something wasn't right, his body felt so familiar, so right to her, but didn't look like James's. And, those beautiful, deep brown eyes that seemed to stare into her soul were most definitely not James's frost blue ones. But, she couldn't deny how good his hands felt as they moved over his body, and she couldn't deny the obvious love written on his face. He was so gentle, but so passionate, it set her body on fire. As he thrust inside her she felt her body quivered, and contract with delight. When they came together in a rush of pleasured screams, and then he settled her body nestled against his own, not ready to release her from his arms yet, she felt her heart might burst.

She woke up once again breathing heavily, but there were no tears this time. Instead her body was soaked with sweat, and still shaking from what she'd experienced. She shifted slightly, feeling moisture, and realizing her body had responded to that dream on more than a subconscious level. Thank god James was called in tonight, how would she explain dreaming so passionately about another man?

Isabelle glanced at the clock, noting the alarm would go off in less than twenty minutes. She decided it couldn't hurt to get an early start to the morning since she was already awake, and climbed out of bed. Her legs quivered beneath her, feeling like jello, not quite right yet. She shook them out, and hurried to the shower, turning the faucet on warm as she did every morning. Wiping at the puddle of sweat that had collected in the spot between her breasts, Isabelle had second thoughts and switched the faucet to at least ten degrees cooler. She really needed to forget that dream, and what was definitely in her top five sexual experiences.

She again chose to ignore the dream, and continue trying to whipe the couple from her mind. She had never believed in ghosts before, and contrary to what she'd seen, and her dreams, she could pretend not to believe in them again. She had to, this woman was screwing with her head and disturbing her life. It wasn't that she didn't feel sympathy for Emily Lehman, it was that she just couldn't play Nancy Drew right now. Isabelle was trying like hell to work her way up to a real negotiator position, not just glorified gofer. Seeing ghosts? Even if they the AD's friends, that just wasn't going to boost her credibility.

As it turned out, Emily didn't seem to care about this. Isabelle went home to James that night, and they made love for hours. She was particularly aggressive, trying to drive her dream rendezvous from her mind, and the guilt that came with it. James was only too happy to match her enthusiasm, and as he held her that night, he told her he loved her. Isabelle pressed her lips against his in a bruising kiss, and whispered those words back to him. They'd taken an important step in their relationship, but both actually seemed to be calmed by it, and were soon slumbering.

She was giggling, teasing her brown-eyed boyfriend about his dog story. He kissed her and wrapped his body so securely, so completely around hers, they almost melded together. She could feel herself grinning, allowing her fingers to creep up his body, whispering suggestively as she deftly worked a set of car keys from his hand. She wiggled the Ford key in front him, and beaten, he finally consented. She knew he'd give her anything, even if it was the opportunity to drive his Royal Blue 2006 Mustang. She was at his hotel door, talking about apologies, telling him that he was going to let her in anyway. He relented, and soon they were in each other's arms, taking about first kisses in Denver.

_They were sweaty and dirty, it was too damn hot and her left arm throbbed. They were both frightened looking into each other's eyes, expecting death. She was crying blaming herself for their situation, he told her about his father, assured her he preferred her world view. Their mouths connected for what they knew at that moment could be the last time. They argued and broke up, tackled each other in what looked suspiciously like the command bus, and discussed the benefits of make-up versus break-up sex. _

_He took her to dinner for her birthday, a nice restaurant in town, one she thought to be overly expensive. He just smiled, and kissed her hand, told her he loved her and nothing was too expensive for her. Then she was straddling him, her hands on his back, massaging out the knots in his muscles as he moaned beneath her. Once he was sufficiently turned into putty, she let him sit up and opened the bottle of champaign chilling on the night table. They drank to their first year together, smiling and kissing, the bubbly soon forgotten. _

Isabelle woke with a start. Holy Christ, she'd just virtually lived half their relationship in her dream. There was a thin sheen of sweat, and her pulse was a little fast, but otherwise, waking up wasn't as bad as the last two times. She looked over at James, still sleeping, thankfully. Yawning, she climbed out of bed, and crept to the kitchen, filling a glass with water, and gulping the whole thing down. This thing, whatever it was needed to stop, it was driving her crazy. Tomorrow, tomorrow she was going to stay late at work, and go take care of this after everyone left.

Emily was obviously trying to get her attention, though Isabelle couldn't fathom why the ghost had chosen her. Well, she was going to get that attention tomorrow.

* * *

Isabelle walked casually through the CNU, checking that nearly everyone else had left for the night. Fortunately, Friday's clear out quick, so only a few people still lingered. Lia Gonzalez was one, looking pointedly at something on her computer, while simultaneously, scanning a report from a junior analyst. Swallowing her nerves down, and how silly she felt, Isabelle walked toward the empty classroom where everything had started. And, it did appear to be genuinely empty now, no side of pretty red-haired ghost. Damn, now she was going to have to really feel silly. 

"Emily? Emily, I know you're in here, I know because I saw you the other day. You've been trying to get my attention, now you have it, show yourself." Isabelle cringed at how cheesy that sounded, and then her eyes widened when Emily did actually appear, looking amused about something.

"Hi there, um we don't really know each other, but I think I understand what you want. I think I understand when you hang around hear…why he hangs around over by interrogation." Don't ghosts wear white, flowing dresses, and loose crazy hair? Emily was in jeans and a camisole, like she'd been that day, and her hair was loose and free, but not crazy, she seemed so normal. All though, at least this time, she seemed translucent, that definitely screamed 'ghost'.

She also didn't respond to Isabelle, just continued watching her quietly.

"Okay, so I can give you what you want if you don't disappear, and follow my instructions. Will you do that?" The ghost smiled and nodded.

"Alright, just give me a minute." Isabelle scrambled to get her cell phone, and dial the FBI main line, plugging in the necessary extension.

"AD Carerra."

"It's Isabelle, can you come to Emily's classroom, there's something you want to see here." Cheryl didn't respond, just hung up, and Isabelle waited patiently, watching Emily, who seemed to return to studying a book on the podium.

"Isabelle—oh my god…" Cheryl stared in awe the translucent form of her old friend, who looked no older than the day she died. Emily's head flew up at her voice, and her eyes seemed to warm, as she smiled nervously at Cheryl. A ghost, nervous? Oh, Isabelle was so in over her head.

"Okay folks, let's get this show on the road." Isabelle motioned Emily toward her, watching her hesitate first, and the float slowly toward her. She motioned Cheryl, who was still open-mouthed and wide-eyed, to turn and walk, and so the motley crew got to the edge of Emily's classroom. That's where she stopped.

"Emily, you have to come out, or you won't get to see him." Isabelle told her impatiently. Cheryl, who was at a complete loss as to what they were doing, finally understood. Of course, that's why they hung around all these years, they were still looking for each other.

Emily bit her lip, unsure that she was even able to cross that threshold. Looking uneasily at the door, she turned to the wall, disappeared into it, and came out the other end. Oh, god yes, Isabelle was way, way over her head.

"Um, you might want to um, go in visible from here, I'll tell you when to reappear." Emily vanished then, without even a nod.

"Okay, why the hell is she listening to you?" Cheryl was struggling to figure out why Emily hadn't tried to contact her, or Lia, or even Duff or Frank years ago, they could have helped her.

"She's been kind controlling my dreams, driving me half out of my mind actually. I'm really the one doing what she wants." Isabelle closed off the rational half of her mind just to get through this.

"But, I would have helped her, twenty years and not a peep."

"My guess is you're too close, easier to expose what she did to a stranger than a friend."

"What do you mean? What did she show you in those dreams?"

"Uh, the funeral, she wore that dress for him, he liked her in dresses. She got injured during work once, her left arm, they thought they were going to die. I saw when they broke up, I saw when they made up. Her birthday, their first anniversary, he drove a blue Mustang, something about dogs. Oh, and lost of um, never mind." Isabelle suddenly cut herself off, she should keep that to herself.

"Lots of what?"

"Oh, never mind."

"No, you were on a roll, it was all accurate, so lots of what?" Cheryl was kind of amused, what didn't she want to share.

"Sex, lots of sex. Those two were like bunnies." Isabelle relented, half of what she saw involved the couple making love, she had to wonder how they had the time for work.

"Sounds like them," Cheryl laughed, surprising her. Isabelle shook her head, this was all so very weird to her.

They finally got to the CNU, which was even more empty than it had been.

"Okay, Emily, wait here a minute, it looks like everyone is gone so you can reappear now." Isabelle and Cheryl watched her materialize, then Cheryl excused herself a moment, and Isabelle went to take care of something.

"Lia! Lia!" Cheryl called hurriedly, stepping into her friend's office. Lia looked up from her desk, which held picture of her and Duff's four kids at various ages. Eli was eighteen now, Shayna fifteen, Mathew was eleven, and Emily was seven. When Lia was pregnant with Emily, she went into Emily's classroom, and told her friend that these last two were for her and Matt, what they never had the chance to bring into the world.

"What's up?"

"I—well—it's, oh god, just come with me a minute. Call Frank and Duff up first." She waited while Lia called down to HRT's habitat, and then led the way to where she'd left Emily.

"Lia, just don't scream, okay?" Lia shot her in impatient look, and Cheryl led her over to the cubicle she'd left the ghost in.

Lia gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Her friend, who'd been dead for twenty years was sitting there, studying a case file like it was still 2009. She turned when she heard Lia gasp, and gave a nervous smile.

"Cheryl, what the hell is going on?" Lia demanded eyes wide.

"You're going to have to ask Isabelle when she comes back." Lia continued to stare flabbergasted at the silent ghost, until Frank and Duff's footsteps could be heard coming closer.

Emily's eyes widened, and she looked around frantically.

"It's okay, it's just Frank and Duff." That didn't seem to calm the nervous ghost any, and she began to shimmer, as if she was getting ready to disappear.

"No you don't. Isabelle dragged you up here for a reason, don't disappear on her. You do want to see him don't you?" Cheryl asked her, wondering what was making her so jumpy.

Emily nodded just as Frank and Duff caught up, and made it to the cubicle.

"Whoa, holy shit!" Frank gasped, startled.

"What the hell? Emily?" Duff managed to squeak out.

"All those years we were right, she was haunting that classroom," Cheryl explained to the two very pale men.

"That makes no sense, why was she hanging around here?" It wasn't that Frank didn't believe it, he just hoped his friend might have found more peace in the afterlife.

"Not sure, but I'd say the same reason Matt hangs around over here." It went unsaid that the couple, so in love in life, couldn't seem to find each other after death.

Isabelle suddenly reappeared, looking troubled.

"Isabelle, what's wrong?" Cheryl wasn't even sure what she was up to.

"I don't think this is going to be as easy as I thought."

"What's that?" Lia was holding tightly to Duff's hand by now, still trying to swallow what was happening.

"Reconnecting them. Matt's stuck in the old building, Emily's stuck in the new one. That's why they can't find each other, and that's why their still here." She watched Emily's head bow to the desk, the excited nerves in her eyes all but gone, replaced with that same sadness she'd seen that first time.

"I didn't say we couldn't do it, just that it wouldn't be easy," Isabelle insisted, talking directly to the ghost.

"Man, this is just way too weird." Duff shook his head, falling into a chair, not ready to become a ghost detective quite yet.

Isabelle studied the four friends, all still looking somewhat shell shocked, still watching Emily. She'd seen pictures of the whole group, all six together, there was one in Cheryl's office, one down in HRT, and still another in Sloan's. She'd never noticed them before Emily appeared to her that first time, but now it seemed their faces were all over. And, the six always looked very happy in the pictures, the best of friends who always had each other's backs.

She wondered for the first time, if the guilt the four were carrying around wasn't part of the reason the friends stayed. Sure, they watched out for each other, but twice the four had failed to protect one of their group. Not one of them had forgotten that, that much was clear watching them struggling with Emily's presence. Something else became clear to her then too, this group, these four people, they were the bridge between the old building and the new. They were there in both, and they also had a connection to the couple.

"Okay," Isabelle got their attention. "This is going to sound really weird, but I need you all to humor me, alright?"

They all kind of bobbed their heads distractedly. Isabelle figured she could probably tell them to strip and streak through the building, and they might actually try to do it.

"Go over there, and make a circle, join your hands. Emily, you need to be in the middle of the circle." Four people, and one ghost turned and looked at her like she was crazy.

"What happened to humoring me?" This, this was just beyond weird, and god knows how corny it was going to end up, but whatever works, right?

They shifted over to a clear spot, Emily arched an eyebrow, but joined them, looking very awkward surrounded by them.

"I'll be right back." Isabelle rushed back to the interrogation room.

"Matt! Matt come on out," she called, startled when he actually did appear, rather quickly. Handsome as the pictures, in blue jeans and a maroon and white band t-shirt, Matt's beautiful brown eyes shown with hope.

"I've got an idea, come on." He followed her out without question. Isabelle had explained to him before, who she was, sort of an emissary from his girlfriend. She described to him, things she couldn't have known had Emily not shown them to her.

"Oh my god," Lia breathed, heart pounding at the sight of another friend who'd been dead for twenty years. Her gasp got the attention of the others, who uttered in voluntary exclamations right after her. It was a little much for the group, two dead friends floating around in one night?

But, Matt couldn't see anything except a shimmer inside the circle, and Emily couldn't see anything except a shimmer beside Isabelle. But, they both sensed it immediately, like they'd sensed each other so many other times floating around the building. They could never see each other, never touch each other, and that's what kept them rooted in that building for twenty years. At least here they could feel when the other was near, like a wave passing over them, making them tingle, giving them a sense of warmth after twenty cold years alone.

Isabelle approached the circle of stunned people, and gently seperated Frank and Cheryl's hands, figuring anything she said at the point wasn't likely to be heard.

"Matt," she gestured him in. He moved toward the circle, and as he passed through the opening, something amazing happened.

He could see her, after twenty years of not seeing her pretty face, there she was in front of him. For the nearly two years he'd been dead before her, Matt had watched her everyday, wanting so much to touch her, to lay down beside her at night. He watched her at his funeral, knew she only wore that dress for him, watched her cry nights without him, and wanted so badly to reach out and heal her broken heart. Then he'd watched that bullet enter her body, and he watched her die, his own heart-aching. He saw that shimmer leave her body, her soul, and he tried searching for her for days, wondering why he couldn't be with her after death. And, when he realized they would have to be apart, his heart broke.

When Matt suddenly appeared in front of her, Emily almost fell, and had she not been a ghost, she surely would have. After twenty-two years without him, twenty-two years of being lonely and miserable, there he was looking as if no time had passed at all. She couldn't count how many night she'd cried those two years after he died, it felt like a piece of her went with him. Some nights she'd wake up, forgetting he was dead, feeling his arms around her like an amputee's phantom limb. When her student shot her, and she lay on the floor of the classroom, feeling her life draining out of her, she was terrified. As many times as she might have wished it, wished to join him, she was still scared of it. But, the thought of being with him again, that made it easier to swallow. Then as if in some cosmic-level punishment, he was nowhere around, and she was alone again, this time for eternity.

They didn't approach each other at first, as if afraid reaching out to touch each other would make the other disappear. But then, like the magnets they were, they pulled toward each other fiercely, holding, touching, kissing like this moment might pass to quick.

To the living people in the room, the air felt especially heavy, like someone had injected it with mercury or steel. When the two ghosts touched, they become a shimmer, their figures disappearing almost instantly. And, then the shimmer vanished. Their hands dropped.

"What? What happened?" Frank demanded, looking around.

"I think you four just made a couple of ghosts very happy." Isabelle felt exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. She was ready to go home to her boyfriend, and curl up with him in bed.

"So that's it, they're together now?" Lia found this whole thing hard to grasp, harder to swallow. How much she would have liked to say to Emily and Matt, how she would have liked to hear their voices.

"I hope so. But, I guess we'll see." Isabelle grabbed her purse, and left the confused, gapping group to reconcile this among themselves. Contrary to being picked by Emily, she wasn't one of them, and never would be. She didn't share their history, didn't have their memories, and certainly didn't feel what they felt for their dead friends. And, that was just fine with her.

That night she dreamt again of the couple, but this dream was different, almost surreal.

Two figures sat together in an area she couldn't identify, in a world she couldn't begin to imagine. Both had tears in their eyes, and held tightly to each other. They kissed and whispered softly, about how they'd missed each other, how much they still loved each other, even in death. They didn't talk about the twenty years they lost, there was nothing to be done about it now, and it didn't matter anymore. They'd finally gotten their chance at eternity together, that was the only thing that mattered.

Isabelle woke with a start, but for once, with a smile, and snuggled closer to James.

--

A month later, she ran into AD Carerra, Commanders Rogers and Gonzalez, and Ms. Gonzalez, enjoying a beer in Sloan's. They nodded at her, and she nodded back. They hadn't mentioned that night since it happened, and probably never would. Isabelle walked instead over to where James sat with a small group of their colleagues and friends, and slid in the booth beside him. He put an arm around her, earning a gentle teasing from their small group, who couldn't resist.

The door opened again, and as an agent from Missing Persons walked through the door, two birds flew in behind him. They were small, and certainly not pigeons. They landed on the a chandelier above everyone's heads, their small green bodies drawing everyone's attention. Someone called out that they were lovebirds, not exactly common in LA. The feathered creatures rubbed their heads against each other, nuzzling, beaks clicking, just happy to be together.

The creatures took off again, flying a circle around the table that held four FBI legends in the fields, before flying off again. They passed by a picture hanging on the wall, flapping their wings near, as if the five people in the room had any doubt who they were messengers for. They were out the door before as quick as they'd come, leaving five people watching green feathers falling in front of a photo of a handsome dark-haired man with a red-head in his lap.

* * *

_As I said, completely experimental, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for taking the time to read it, and please review!_


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